Forced 'funny' fiction by a wretched, retarded writer... moi... Mike Myhre.
I was strolling through Sachplakat Park one day. It was May. The flowers were in bloom, and all around me I could see happy people kissing, canoodling, coupling and carrying-on in and around the soft green grass. The sun stood high in the sky, its rays falling to earth and reflecting upwards again, courtesy of the tiny lake in the center of the park. Ducks waddled into the lake and within no time of calmly swimming out towards the middle, those caught in the intense heat and light exchange going on between the jolly sun and the reflective pond spontaneously burst into flame.
I did a double take, and quickly glanced around me. The elderly were literally shriveling up like raisins before my very eyes. I looked around again, and right in front of me the green grass was turning yellow and shriveling, the children were asphyxiating trying to breathe the air, which in no time at all had turned as heavy as a cloud of bricks. I almost passed out myself, but managed to dive into a nearby stream, filled knee deep with water and, I imagine, the urine of vagrants. It ran through a fairly large concrete tunnel that went under the highway. I couldn’t see the end. There was an old man already in the tunnel lying exhausted against the curved wall. He had a large nose, small round glasses. He was balding on top and had longish gray-white hair, frazzled slightly, and damp from the water.
I asked in a panic, “What just happened?”
He turned his head slightly towards me and replied in a slightly European accent “Haven’t got the faintest idea m’boy. I’ve been listening to my hand radio—” he held up his tiny radio, “when all of a sudden I heard the most dire panic over the airwaves. I began to get exceptionally hot, almost dropped my radio it got so warm, and I headed towards this creek.”
“Good luck … for both of us I guess” I said, still out of breath. “I saw people dying up there. It was—”
“Quick, get yourself wet, and into the tunnel. The sun’s burning the branches off those trees there.”
I looked up, trees were bursting into flames and the branches were dropping off the trees, bursting into ash as they hit the grass, now nearly engulfed in flame. “Holy…” I lay on my stomach in the pool of slowly warming water, speechless for a stretch of time I didn’t keep track of. Finally I turned to the old man. “Thanks, Mister…”
“Økonomisk. But you can call me Burt.” He responded while looking down at his radio. He was fiddling with the dial and getting nothing but static. “Damn piece of junk!” he shouted chucking it deeper into the tunnel. “I’m sorry, this heat, and… confusion… is getting to me. I didn’t get your name, son.”
“I’m Ed. Ed Early. Gosh… this heat … is kinda getting intense again. Maybe we should go further in the tunnel, I think it’ll be cooler there.”
“Good idea…” Burt said, while slowly elevating himself to his feet.
We couldn’t stand up all the way without hitting our heads on the concrete. We slowly shuffled deeper into the tunnel, water soaking our socks and shoes to the point where it was almost more uncomfortable to keep them on then to take them off and walk on potential needles or who knows what in there. We made small talk. Burt was retired. He was a jeweler at Økonomisk and Sons. His sons now ran the business. I mentioned that I worked in a travel agency. The light at the end of the tunnel from which we had come was getting fainter and fainter and we couldn’t see where we were going. We hadn’t started to cool down yet, but at least we were staying relatively the same temperature. At the time, it was surprisingly easy to breathe in the tunnel. We sat down, exhausted. The type of sit-down where you start off slow then plop on your ass 5 times as fast. I think the heat was too much for Burt. After an hour or so he started speaking gibberish.
Hours later, drifting in and out of sleep from the heat I noticed Burt still talking to himself. “Is it a voluptuous statue that Priscilla ate? Or vulva facility? Black artifice… peeing eulogy sex…” he muttered.
“Burt.
Burt! You OK Burt?” My lips were dry and cracked.
“Dolores’ tummy bell… numb a little…” Then he exhaled loudly, and fell silent. I watched almost unfazed as he slid further into the water.
That was 4 hours ago. And I don’t think I need to tell you how bad death stinks… especially in this heat. I can’t take it. I’m going out. I’m not going to die in damp darkness… hiding from who knows what. I don’t think I’ll find out what suddenly caused the heat to soar and everything to burn. But I’d rather go towards the light than this. I can barely move. Crawling through the now-almost scalding hot water. The sweat is pouring into my eyes. My skin feels like its on fire. And then, as I reach the opening of the tunnel, it is. I can feel myself burn. I’m blinded. I’m passing out… I’m … dying…*
The End.
